


But Kindness is Not in Your Nature

by cheerynoir



Series: Drowning!verse [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pining, Ramsay is his own warning, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Theon makes terrible life choices, Unhealthy Relationships, foster kid Theon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerynoir/pseuds/cheerynoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Are you planning on jumping any time tonight?"</em>
</p><p>It's a late night - or a very early morning - in November. Theon makes a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Kindness is Not in Your Nature

“Are you planning on jumping any time tonight?”

The words don’t bother you too much – they’ve been circling around in your head like seagulls for hours, hearing them aloud is almost a relief – but the tone gets under your skin and makes you flinch. It’s barely interested and a little bit drawling all at once. Like if you said yes, all you’d get in reply is a laugh.

It’s not Robb. You didn’t expect Robb.

(Maybe you did – but that’s a secret. _Shhh—_ )

So you take a deep breath and the air freezes your lungs. It hurts, but what are you going to do – stop breathing?

It’s a tempting thought.

You turn glance down instead, and there’s a man staring back at you. The scarf he’s wearing is bright red, his coat is black, and he’s standing in a circle of dogs that all look more interested in things than their owner.

“Well?” he asks, goading.

You want to punch him suddenly, with an intensity that makes your teeth ache and your mouth water. You want to jump, just to see what he’d do. You want to swim. You want to scream. There’s blood burning its way up your neck like kerosene lit up and blazing, and it pools hotly in your cheeks.

It’s only the cold, you tell yourself, and you know it’s another lie. 

That’s something you’re good at. Lying.

You pry your hand from the metal railing and take a step away from the edge. Two. The air is very cold, and your footsteps are loud against frost-cracked cement.

The dogs are panting softly, hotly, and you watch their breath steam. 

You eye them as you draw closer and you move with an affected swagger, drawn up tall, using every lanky inch of yourself to make them uninterested. One of your brothers – Maron, you think, with the quick-silver smile and the sly, sweet words – once talked you into climbing the junk-yard fence with him when you were seven on a dare, and the mutt standing guard took a chunk out of your leg before you could haul yourself back up. Maron, laughing, dragged you home and you bled like a stuck pig and wept like the baby they always called you.

You touch the scar, sometimes, and taste metal and years-old fear. It wasn’t your first scar, or your last, just one more on the ragged canvas that is your body. You’re almost fond of it. Aren’t most people fondly nostalgic of childhood scars?

“Do you want to pet one of my girls?”

He sounds amused, a hair from laughter. You wonder if this is what it’s like when people talk to you – smiling, always smiling. No wonder they always seem to disgruntled by the time they’re walking away.

You still want to hit him, maybe just to feel hot blood against your knuckles. Maybe because he deserves it.

You ball your hands up into bony fists and stuff them into your jacket pockets instead, breathing out hard and thinking _not worth it not worth it_ as hard as you can. It doesn’t unlock your muscles, but it does cool your temper a little.

“No,” you say, and flash an easy, practiced smile. Like it’s not four AM six weeks before Christmas on the edge of a bridge. Like the water hadn’t been calling, lapping sweetly against all your jagged edges. The smile is the easiest part of this. That’s another thing you’re good at. Smiling.

When he doesn’t say anything, just watches you unblinkingly, you turn your collar up against the chill and hunker down into your coat. You skirt past the stranger and his pack of hounds, go three long steps away from Harlaw and toward the main land.

The sun isn’t even up yet, but the thought of going back to the apartment you share with Asha – when Asha’s even there – makes you want to cringe. There’s only so many times you can count the ceiling tiles and pace the worn-out carpets before the place begins to weigh on your spine like lead and you’re breathing more cigarette smoke than actual air.

Which reminds you: You need to buy more cigarettes.

“What’s wrong then? Didn’t you have the balls for it?”

You flinch so hard you nearly start out of your skin, and the man just laughs at that, a stupid little giggle that makes you want to kick his teeth down his throat. You glower and turn sharply, walking backward and watching as he ambles along, his attention on his pets as they sniff and explore. He’s still smiling a little, eyes crinkling like he’s inviting you in on a joke.

You don’t return his grin.

“Fuck off,” you tell him, because anything is better than telling him the truth. He laughs again, like you were kidding.

“Can’t say I’ve ever met an Islander who was scared of the water,” he says, like you’re talking about the weather.

You bristle, set your teeth, and smirk. “Met a lot of them, have you?” Then, pushing your hair back in a short, sharp motion, “I wasn’t scared, greenlander. I had no intention of jumping in the first place.”

You hate how defensive you sound, and his eyes just narrow in pleasure. “Are you sure about that?”

“Pretty fucking sure.”

“If you say so,” he replies, and shrugs a little. No skin off my back, the gesture screams.

You check your phone. It’s 4:23 AM. No missed calls, no new messages. You stuff your phone away and look out over the black water of Iron Harbor. It looks –

It almost looks peaceful.

You walk for a while, and it’s almost nice, putting one foot in front of the other and hearing the same from a little ways away. It’s quiet, but not silent. The dogs pant and puff, their toenails click, their owner breathes. You’re not thinking, and it’s quiet and cold and almost relaxing. You hate being cold, but nights like this you need it.

The smell of smoke if unexpected, but welcome, and you glance automatically to the man in the red scarf. He smokes a cigarette like some 1950s James Dean-wannabe, the scarf loose around his neck, and he grins when he catches your eye.

He doesn’t offer, so you won’t ask, but you do drift a little closer. You’re not hopeful, but your fingers curl around your lighter, and the cheap plastic warms slowly in your palm. Your mouth waters. 

He breathes out smoke and you breathe out fog and it’s almost – _almost_ – the same.

You fall into step without meaning to, glancing sidelong at that cigarette, and a dog – soft-looking, with red fur and brown eyes – snuffles at your hand. You pat her for lack of anything better to do, and are quietly relieved when she doesn’t snap at your fingers. One dog brings more, and soon the walk has been derailed because you’re being swarmed by dogs looking for attention. You swallow and try to unlock the knot of muscle between your shoulder-blades. 

“They can smell fear, you know.”

You really wish this guy would shut up. His stare doesn’t help, and your skin crawls a little at the intensity of it. His eyes are the colour of dirty snow, and twice as cold. One of your fists clenches in the red dog’s nape, and she whines a little. You let go and give her a good scrubbing-pet with both hands, rumpling ears and fur alike. Grey Wind always liked that kind of thing. The others press in, tongues lolling, but Red bares her teeth a little.

“You’re smiling, but it’s true. Why do you think they’re reacting that way? My girls are smart – they know prey when they smell it.”

“It’s too fucking early for this,” you decide. You’ve petted his dogs and played his game and given him conversation. The least he can do is shut his mouth. “Give me a cigarette or stop talking.”

He gives you a cigarette and talks your ear off as you continue your walk. His hands don’t shake from cold when he lights your cigarette for you, after you tried six times just to get a spark from your shitty Zippo. You glance up at him absently, head ducked, and he looks no less eerie lit by the cherry glow of flame. His mouth is pale and full.

“You know,” you say, five AM and the sun creeping up on you. You wander into White Harbor and your feet take you to the North part of the city without thinking. Bad habit. If you don’t watch, you’re going to end up on Robb’s stoop like some stray. You’re better than that.

(Are you? You sure you’re not just a bitch looking for a soft touch and a warm bed? Shut up _shut up—_ )

You set your jaw and keep walking, shoulders back, fists in your pockets. Your generous benefactor follows along, head cocked as he listens and the dogs pant. “You’re really fucking creepy, man,” you say, with fresh venom.

“Well you’re really fucking desperate, so we make a nice pair,” he shoots back.

You laugh. The sound of it is as raw and sharp as ice splintering. It’s the truest sound you’ve made since you walked out of Robb’s apartment two days ago – no, three, you correct and glance at the lightening sky. Three days, Robbless. It’s not a new record, but it feels like it should be.

You check your phone again. No missed calls, no new messages. It’s five in the morning, and you think you remember Robb saying something about spending the weekend at Jeyne’s.

You put it away, bum another cigarette, and smirk when your fingers brush accidentally-on-purpose. 

You might have found a way to kill time, at any rate.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading - let me know what you thought of it, hey?
> 
> Many thanks to my awesome beta, Theonaf, for catching my typos and making Ramsay feel like Ramsay.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr!
> 
> (If someone could tell me how to hyperlink, that would be rad.)


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